Passionate Moments
by Aspermoth
Summary: A collection of House, M.D. oneshots exploring various pairings within the show. Rated M for sexual content in Chapter 4. ON HIATUS.
1. Coffee

**Title:** Coffee

**Summary:** Foreman is quite like House. So when he's in charge, what exactly makes him better than House? That's what Cuddy wants to know.

**Trigger:** The word "technically"

**Time Frame:** Just after Failure to Communicate (it's another patient, House gets people to lie a lot)

**Pairing:** Cuddy/Foreman

**Word Count:** 618

**Author's Note:** I've decided to write some short experimental one-shots to investigate different pairings in House, M.D. Actually, I just want to write one-shots. It's fun. And I've kind of run a bit dry on Doppelganger. I'll work on it, I'll work on it. A dropped chapter might worm its way in here as House/Wilson later.

**Disclaimer:** No boy/boy yet, so that's not a problem. I don't own House or any of the characters, so please don't sue me. And if you don't like this pairing, then ignore this and come back later.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Cuddy says, her voice full of long-suffering patience. "You want me to go against all that is ethical by lying to a patient, after asking me to do it on another occasion and hearing a whole lecture against it then, and you are better than House _how_?" 

Foreman holds up a lidless Starbucks coffee cup, the pale curls and tendrils of steam creeping over the edges of the foam to disappear into the air inan interesting contrast to the dark skin of his hand.

"I bring you coffee?" he suggests.

Cuddy's face takes on the slightly weary but battle-ready smile that she usually reserves for House and House alone. Wondering fleetingly if the neurologist has any idea how similar to House he really is, she reaches out for the coffee cup.

"If this coffee isn't good, I won't do it," she warns.

"Only the best for you."

Cuddy eyes Foreman suspiciously over the rim of the cup. If it was supposed to be flirtatious, then it was about as subtle as letting off a klaxon in a library. She inhales the scent of coffee gratefully, then looks down at the umber-coloured liquid.

"This is a Caffè Verona," she says in surprise. "How did you know I like this?"

"A little bird told me," Foreman replies ambiguously.

"And was that little bird called Wilson?"

"Well... yes."

Cuddy laughs softly and takes a sip, a little moan of satisfaction somehow escaping her as the sweet taste spreads over her tongue. She relaxes, leaning back in her chair.

"Okay," she admits. "You are definitely better than House."

Foreman laughs.

"So you'll do it?" he asks.

"You know, technically, this bribery," Cuddy observes without actually answering the question.

"But will you do it? Please?"

Now that is a word that House would never use. A word that Cuddy really appreciates. But she is still not ready to cave in the request yet. She takes another long sip of her coffee.

"I'd also like to point out that this coffee is normally given as a Valentine's Day present," she adds. "You're a few months out, if this is a gift."

"It could be."

Cuddy raises her eyebrows.

"Are you flirting with me?" she asks.

"I might be," Foreman replies evasively. "But what are you going to do about it, Dr Cuddy?"

Cuddy seems to contemplate for a moment, then sets down her coffee cup and stands up. She walks around her desk slowly, perfectly aware of how low-cut her blouse is. Foreman's eyes follow her movement, surprisingly fixed on her face rather than her breasts. Cuddy lowers herself gently onto his lap and grasps his tie in her fingers, pulling him closer to her. Her lips touch his. Her tongue coaxes his mouth open and the kiss deepens. Foreman tastes like coffee, the cheap coffee sold in the hospital cafeteria. So he spends good money on buying Starbucks coffee for her, but gets the cheap stuff for himself. Cuddy pulls away to fiddle with the tie casually, leaning close to whisper.

"You need to buy yourself better coffee," she purrs. "The cafeteria stuff tastes terrible."

"So is that a yes?" Foreman asks, smiling with satisfaction.

"You have a one-track mind," Cuddy admonishes. "I'll do it."

She stands up and walks to her office door, pausing with her hand on the doorframe.

"So this relationship gets me intelligence, coffee perks and kisses," she says. "What does it get you?"

"You," Foreman replies simply.

Cuddy smiles and walks out. Minutes later, a slightly amazed Foreman follows her out. The coffee cup stays where Cuddy left it on the desk, still faintly steaming, a lipstick mark on the foam rim.


	2. Trust

**Title:** Trust

**Summary:** What if Chase had gone to speak to House instead of snooping around? What could a confrontation have lead to?

**Trigger:** House yelling at Chase after he screws up with the angiogram

**Time Frame:** During Control

**Pairing:** House/Chase

**Word Count:** 1,197

**Author's Note:** What can I say? I just want to write some House/Chase. I think that they work because Chase has something about him. He was watching House in Occam's Razor; why the hell would he be doing that if he didn't have some sort of interest (romantic, sexual or other) in House? And yeah, I know I said that I don't believe in House/Chase in Doppelganger, but I've changed my mind...

**Disclaimer:** There's boy/boy here, so if you don't like that, please look away. I don't own House or any of the characters, so please don't sue me. And if you don't like this pairing, then ignore this and come back later.

* * *

"He's not gonna fire you," Cameron says gently. 

"I'd fire you," Foreman says, pretending to shoot Chase with two fingers. "Bye. Bye."

Chase's voice is practically a monotone when he finally comments,

"I screw up, the patient dies, I'll never get another job."

He sighs.

"I'm gonna go talk to him," he announces. "See if I can do something about it."

He gets up out of his chair and walks towards the door. Cameron stares at him, struck dumb. Foreman somehow manages to find a voice for his disbelief.

"You're going to _talk_ to _House_?" he asks incredulously.

"If it saves my job."

He leaves the room before any other response can be made. The door shuts behind him with a gentle click, leaving Cameron and Foreman staring at it.

"He's fired," Foreman says, looking at Cameron.

"No question," Cameron agrees.

- - - - -

Chase reaches House's office just as Wilson is leaving.

"Dr Wilson," he says in acknowledgement.

"Dr Chase," Wilson replies.

He reaches out to block Chase's path.

"If you're in there to see House..." he begins.

"My job's on the line."

"Oh. Go right on in then," Wilson relinquishes, moving his arm so that Chase can get past and beginning to walk away.

"Thanks... I think."

Chase pushes the door open and walks in. House is sitting in his chair by the computer when the young intensivist enters the room. He looks up.

"And why are you here? Shouldn't you be more concerned with the patient?" he asks.

"I made a mistake," Chase says.

"Yeah, we know that," House points out. "Why are you here?"

"Because I could have redone the angiogram. I screwed up once, I wouldn't have done it again."

"What proof do you have of that when you didn't even explain why you screwed up the first time?" House asks.

"I was... I was flirting with a nurse, it won't happen again," Chase insists.

"And why were you flirting?"

"She was hot - what does this matter anyway? It was a one-time mistake, it wouldn't have happened again!"

"How do you know that?"

The question cuts the air like a knife. Chase stares at House, insensed.

"Don't you trust me?" he asks.

"It wouldn't have looked good to send you to redo the thing you screwed up the first time."

"And since when did you care about that?" Chase demands.

"And since when did these questions matter?" House asks.

He stands up to be on Chase's eye level.

"What do you really want to ask?"

Chase looks away for a moment, gathering courage, then looks back.

"Are you gonna fire me?" he asks.

"That depends," House says. "Are you going to kiss my ass? Beg?"

"Why do you want me to debase myself?" Chase snaps. "I'm not your lapdog. I am not going to suck up to you just because of my job."

"You should. You could get fired."

"But it wouldn't be my fault if she died, she didn't have a clot!"

"You still messed up."

"I made one mistake! It shouldn't cost me my career!"

Chase is shouting now, anger burning in his chest. His eyes are stinging, as though he's about to cry.

"Why are you such an ass?" he asks.

"Because I am," House replies. "Why is that such a problem?"

It's a lost cause. Chase can tell and he's not happy about it. In fact, he's pretty cut up about it. It's not that difficult to tell when it's House. He hits you with rhetoric, answers your questions with questions, is a general pain in the neck. Chase sighs, giving up.

"I wanted to be like you," he says, trying and failing to keep his misery out of his voice as moisture pools in his lower eyelids. "To be as good as you. And you... you just don't give a damn. You don't give a damn about _me_ or my job."

He turns away angrily to hide the tear dripping down his cheek, then looks back over his shoulder, the damp track down his skin catching the limited light.

"You know what?" he says, his voice trembling slightly. "Fire me. I don't care. I don't give a damn about you either."

He turns away and stalks over to the door. His hand is on the door handle when House's voice cuts across the room.

"I'm not gonna fire you."

Chase stops, another tear trickling down his cheek in the silence. He turns and looks into House's piercing blue eyes, meeting the stare unwaveringly even as the tear makes it slow way down his face in clear view.

"And why's that?" he asks.

"That's not the real question," House shoots back, limping towards Chase with a neutral expression on his face. "The real question is how have you gone from desperately trying to keep your job to not giving a crap in under ten minutes?"

Chase falters, dropping his gaze to the floor. House is now standing directly in front of him and Chase now has an interesting view of the older man's shoes.

"Is it because I don't give a crap?" House asks.

Chase nods once, the movement almost imperceptible.

House observes, "That's nothing new. Why has it suddenly become an issue?"

"Because... because I..."

"Yes?"

Chase looks up into House's eyes.

"Because I like you," he mumbles.

"Like me, or _like_ like me?"

Emotions suddenly bubble over. There's unhappiness, sure, for obvious reasons. Frustration because House is being so flippant over something that means so much to him. And... desire? It's time for a choice. He can either walk out in frustration, as he has done so many times with House, or he can face up to the fact that there is something about House that draws him in, and _do_ something about it. Chase decides. He puts his arms around House's neck, pulling the older man's body towards him, and presses his lips to House's. He closes his eyes to enjoy the other sensations of the kiss: the scratch of stubble on the edges of his lips, the faint scent of the older man's aftershave, the taste of his mouth as he gently coaxes House's lips apart to taste him, to be part of him...

Then Chase realises what he's doing. He is kissing his boss. His misanthropic, grouchy, liable-to-fire-him, _straight_ boss. His arms drop and he pulls away, looking at the floor and House's shoes.

"I shouldn't've done that," he mumbles. "I'm sorry, I-"

House's hand is suddenly on Chase's chin, lifting his head. Then House begins to kiss him. Chase freezes momentarily, letting the sensation of stubble-scent-kiss wash over him, before House's tongue makes insist movements towards opening Chase's lips. Chase opens his mouth and the kiss deepens, passionate and tender at the same time. When it finally comes to its natural end, Chase parts from House reluctantly, unwilling to let the other man go. House raises his eyebrows, a small but so sexy smile on his lips.

"You should have thought of this earlier," he admonishes gently as he lets his hand drop.

"Shut up," Chase murmurs.

"Make me."

"Love to."

And Chase puts his arms around House's neck again with another passionate kiss.


	3. Hickey

**Title:** Hickey

**Summary:** Cuddy has a hickey. But who gave it to her? Now that is a question that needs answering... well, to House at least.

**Trigger:** The word "neck"

**Time Frame:** After Control

**Pairing:** Cuddy/Chase

**Word Count:** 939

**Author's Note:** Okay, blame my brother's random number selection for this one. I'll probably do some more slash after this (House/Wilson, perhaps. I have two possibly storylines that I'd like to use there sometime), but for now, I will throw Cuddy and Chase together and see what happens. And I'd like to add that if you see any spelling or grammar errors or any missing words, please point them out to me so that I can correct them. I won't get grouchy, honest:)

**Disclaimer:** No same sex couples in this chapter, so don't worry about that. I don't own House, M.D. or any of the characters because if I do, I would be both super rich and spending a lot of time in the company of Hugh Laurie, Robert Sean Leonard and Jesse Spencer. And if you don't like this pairing, I'm very sorry. Please reread one of the other chapters or something. Don't leave me!

* * *

House slams his cane down on Wilson's desk loudly, jerking the oncologist out of whatever daydream he was lurking in moments before.

"Cuddy," he declares with relish, "has a hickey."

Wilson blinks in confusion, staring at his friend.

"You mean, a genuine love-bit hickey? Like from a man?"

"It's on her neck," House says, sadistic pleasure in every syllable.

"You've seen it?" Wilson asks.

"Yep. She ordered me into her office this morning, something about seven hours of missed clinic duty this week-"

"_Seven_ hours?"

"I was busy. Anyway, she was yelling at me as always and I got a good view of her-"

"Please say neck."

"It was her neck," House admits. "Although I did get a good view of her breasts as well..."

"Just shut up and explain this hickey."

"Well, she was leaning over me to yell right in my face in that charming way that she does when I saw the bruise on her neck."

"Fresh?"

"Yep. Lovely shade of dark purple," House muses.

"So what happened then?"

"She noticed me staring, went quiet, covered her neck and ordered me out," House completes.

"So... who gave it to her?"

"That is what we are going to spend the next few days' worth of clinic hours finding out."

"When you're _seven hours_ behind already? No!"

"So you don't want to know who gave the Almighty Cuddy a hickey?"

Wilson makes an exasperated noise in his throat.

"Fine! We'll discuss it later. Why do you care so much anyway?"

"Because Cuddy's mine," House declares, "and no other mortal man may have her."

"So if Jesus gave her a hickey that's perfectly fine?"

"Exactly. Which is why we have to figure out if it was Him or if it was someone who's butt I can whup."

- - - - -

Chase's pager goes off loudly, the annoying beep piercing the room. He drops the newspaper in surprise and fishes for it, reading the message on the small green screen. _'Dr Chase to Dr Cuddy's office now,'_ it read. He looks up at Cameron and Foreman, neither of whom are looking at their own pagers.

"What is it?" Cameron asks.

"Dr Cuddy wants me," Chase reports. "See you later, I guess."

Less than ten minutes later, Chase walks into Cuddy's office. Cuddy is sitting behind her desk reading some important-looking document, but she looks up as he enters and smiles.

"Dr Chase."

"Dr Cuddy."

Chase sits down in the chair opposite Cuddy and leans on her desk.

"You wanted to see me?"

"I need a consult," Cuddy says coyly.

She leans forwards towards Chase and tips her head to one side, revealing her neck.

"I have a strange mark."

"So I can see," Chase agrees.

"What's your differential diagnosis?" Cuddy asks.

"Well," Chase says, leaning close to her neck, "judging by the position, and size, of the mark, I would say that it was caused by somebody, possibly a certain Australian intensivist, doing this."

And he presses his mouth to Cuddy's throat, gently sucking the skin, then digging his teeth in slightly to draw a moan from her.

"Robert... stop."

"Mm?"

"No more hickeys."

Chase pulls away, a slightly hurt expression in his azure eyes.

"Don't you want me to kiss you?" he asks.

"I do, it's just... people are going to notice hickeys."

"Lisa, nobody is going to care if you have a hickey," Chase soothes, his mouth searching once more for her throat.

"Robert, no!"

"Well, in that case," Chase purrs, "we're going to have to get creative."

"Come here."

"I don't think so. You're coming here."

Chase grabs her arm, pulling her towards him so that she has to climb onto the desk itself and kneel there, giving the lucky intensivist an excellent chance to stare down her blouse.

"Good view?" Cuddy quips.

"And getting better," Chase says enthusiastically. "When I said come here, I meant _right_ here."

"So crawling over the desk isn't enough for you?" she asks.

"Nope," he replies cheekily.

Cuddy swivels carefully around so that she is sitting on the edge of the desk facing Chase. She then slides off of the wood so that soon she is straddling Chase's lap, her arms around his neck and her fingers coiled into his hair.

"Is this better?" she murmurs.

Her answer comes in the form of a kiss, pressed into the soft flesh between her collar bones. She twirls a strand of his hair around one finger, marvelling at its softness.

"Like my hair?" Chase teases.

"It's lovely," Cuddy sighs. "Just like you."

She leans down and presses her lips against his in a chaste and tender kiss, before he pushes her chin up and begins to kiss along her neck, feather-light kisses that draw another moan out of Cuddy and draw her attention away from the fact that he is beginning to undo the buttons of her blouse. She slaps his hands away gently and looks down.

"Naughty, naughty," she says. "What if somebody sees?"

"Who cares?" Chase asks. "I love you. I don't care who knows."

"If House finds out, he'll make both of our lives a living hell," Cuddy points out.

"He'll never find out."

"House has a way of discovering things," Cuddy points out. "Other people might work what's going on then let it get...wormed out of them. House has-"

"-worked it out for himself."

Both gazes snap onto the door, where House is standing, leaning on his cane, those piercing blue eyes taking in the all too obvious with a sort of glee.

"Our little boy is all grown up," he says and a self-satisfied grin stretches his mouth like a Cheshire cat's.


	4. Boxers

**Title:** Boxers

**Summary:** Wilson is now living with House following the break-up of his marriage to Julie. When some bizarre thievery comes to light, what will follow?

**Trigger:** Writing Doppelganger (was gonna be a chapter of that, cut it out for time reasons and adapted it for originality)

**Time Frame:** Somewhere around Clueless

**Pairing:** House/Wilson

**Word Count:** 1,287

**Author's Note:** I know that I don't mention it at first, but _please_ believe me: they are wearing underwear. And no, this is not the 'morning after'. This is... well, it just is. Enjoy. On, and be forewarned: Passionate Moments is taking a break. I said that I would update Doppelganger, and I failed, and I need to make up for that. Eventually. But at the expense of this (and two other House related projects that I am secretly working on that I shouldn't be).

**Disclaimer:** Be forewarned about boy/boy. Again, I don't own House or the characters, and unfortunately, I never will. But if I did, Doppelganger would be an AU movie and House and Wilson's relationship would be ever more ambiguous than it is now. Ahem. And if you really object to this pairing, I apologise and urge you simply to avoid this chapter and re-read a different one that you prefer.

* * *

Somebody pokes House in the shoulder. He groans with annoyance and mumbles something along the lines of: 

"Go away. Sleeping."

The irritant escalates to shoulder shaking level and an annoying voice pierces his comfortable blanket of sleep.

"Greg. Greg. Wake up."

It's Wilson.

"Jimmy, _sleeping_!" House grumbles, reluctantly opening his eyes a crack to look at his friend before trying to go back to sleep.

Wilson rubs the back of his neck, annoyed.

"This is why I didn't want to stay with you," he mutters.

"And what do you mean by that?" House asks in a monotone.

"You're grumpy when I wake you."

"That's because I'm _tired_."

"Greg, it's Saturday and it's 6am," Wilson points out.

"Ever heard of a lie-in?"

"_Wake up_."

"_Lie-in._"

Wilson doesn't reply. Instead, House hears the sound of his footsteps as he leaves the room. Feeling satisfied that he has won the argument, House begins to let his consciousness slip away... until a torrent of icy water pours onto his head. His eyes snap open in an instant, he yells and sits bolt upright to find Wilson laughing, clutching onto a sponge that had, until moments ago, being fully engorged with cold water. House throws his now saturated pillow at the other man.

"What happened to asking politely?" he demands.

"I just did," Wilson observes, "and you told me 'Sleeping'."

"Should've tried again, not drowned me," House grumbles. "How am I going to sleep in this bed now? It's soaked!"

"You could always try the couch," Wilson suggests.

"I thought you were sleeping on the couch."

"I can always try the floor."

"You're willing to sleep on the floor for me? That's so noble," House muses. "St Jimmy the Couch Giver..."

"Now you're just being stupid."

"When aren't I?" House asks.

"Good point," Wilson replies quickly. "But you do realise that you are a pain to wake up, don't you?"

"It's the middle of the night. Of course I'm not going to want to wake up."

"Six in the morning is not the middle of the night!"

"Is to me."

"Well fine, if you want to sleep for a bit longer..."

"How can I? The bed's wet."

"True," Wilson agrees. "But I can't sleep, so why should you be allowed to?

"Touché."

"Do you even know what that means?"

"I've no idea. But it sounds cool."

Wilson throws the still damp sponge at House. House retaliates with his other pillow, then regrets it as soon as he realizes that Wilson has more ammunition. A furious but relatively quiet pillow-and-sponge fight ensues, both men throwing the wet objects with equal ferocity until most of the water is either dripping out of House's hair or trickling down Wilson's bare chest. The bed, needless to say, is uninhabitable. House looks around at his sleeping area and raises his eyebrows.

"Now I can't sleep," he complains.

Wilson raises the pillow in a mock threat.

"I'll do it. I'm a mad man."

"Hey! That's my line!"

"You are impossible," Wilson groans. "Why on earth do I like you?"

"Because I'm adorable," House says with utter sincerity. "Cuter than a puppy and sweeter than candy."

"Right. Whatever you say."

There's a pause in the conversation. House shuffles over to the edge of the bed, grabs his cane and gets painfully to his feet.

"And where do you think you're going?" Wilson asks.

"Bathroom. I'm soaked."

"Can I come with?"

"Why? Want to see me naked?"

Wilson sighs in that long suffering way he has and goes along anyway. House is sitting on the edge of the bath, rubbing his hair with a towel. Wilson pauses in the doorway, with the nagging feeling that there is something familiar about the older man's boxer shorts.

"Are those my boxers?" he asks.

House stops drying his hair to stare at his friend, his eyebrows raised.

"What did you say?"

"I said, are those my boxers?" Wilson repeats.

House doesn't reply, but there is suggestion of... well, whatever House feels instead of guilt, in his expression that gives Wilson all the answer that he needs. Without bothering about towels or drying himself, he sits down next to his friend, feeling compelled to ask further questions about how House has acquired his underwear.

"Where and when did you get my boxers?"

"I never said that they are your boxers," House observes.

"Do I need to show you the name in the back?" Wilson asks. "Because those boxers were named. I know that."

"Which of your wives _named_ your underwear?"

"First. So wait, if you took those-"

"I didn't take them."

"-after my first marriage broke up, then you've had them... how many years!"

"A few," House replies evasively.

"Why did you take them?"

"I didn't. You left them here."

"When?" Wilson demands.

"She'd kicked you out, you stayed here for a while, and when you finally left, these boxers were still in the wash," House explains, abandoning his hair drying pursuits to continue the conversation, the towel hanging limply around his shoulders.

"So why didn't you give them back?"

House doesn't answer. Wilson gives him a quizzical look.

"Greg?"

"Because they're yours," House mumbles.

"They're mine, so you didn't give them back to me. Hmm. That logic makes perfect sense to me," he quips.

Then he sees House's expression.

"This isn't a joke?" he asks. "This is serious time?"

House nods.

"So what do you mean?" Wilson asks, a paragon of seriousness.

House looks him directly in the eyes, a strange yet exciting intensity burning in his eyes that sets Wilson's heart thudding uncomfortably fast in his chest.

"That they're _yours_," House says.

Wilson stares back, determined not to be forced into looking away.

"How long?" he asks.

"Since after the leg. You stayed with me. That's all I needed."

That look. It's almost more than Wilson can take. Feelings trapped deep below the surface of his consciousness, feelings that have been there all along, alone and unfulfilled, bubble up. Wilson leans in slowly, self-consciously, suddenly feeling like a clumsy teenager. His lips touch House's, chaste, feather-light, as brief as the lightning, as soft as a sigh, more like a fleeting caress than a true kiss. He pulls back slightly, his face barely an inch from House's own. He can feel the older man's breath hot on his cheek, and hear the sound of his own heart beating faster still. He doesn't know what to expect next. Will House kiss him back? Did he get the messages wrong? Will House simply push him over into the bath? He waits with bated breath for a reaction.

House grins wickedly.

"Took you long enough," he teases.

Wilson lets out a long sigh and smiles with relief. House laughs briefly.

"What, did you expect me to push you into the bath?" he asks.

Wilson decides not to dignify that with a verbal response. House puts his hand on Wilson's jaw and pulls the younger man towards him with a cat-like purring noise that makes Wilson's dick jerk. Their lips meet and House pushes Wilson's mouth open with his tongue, deepening the kiss. Wilson groans as his dick hardens, making a noticeable bulge in his boxers. House breaks the kiss and glances down at Wilson's groin.

"Having fun?" he teases.

Wilson gives him the most seductive look that House has ever seen.

"I've had more..." the oncologist replies in a low voice.

"Bedroom?"

"Bed's wet. I say couch."

House kisses Wilson's neck, sucking gently on the skin. Wilson gasps as House hits a sweet spot, then groans as the older man slides a hand into Wilson's boxers.

"House," he says, his voice cracking, "couch. _Now._"

"Yes sir."

Wilson smiles. He should wake House up early more often.

* * *

As I said, PM is taking a break. We'll be back after Doppelganger has had at least two or three updates. I thank you for your patience. See you soon! 


	5. Cranky

**Title:** Cranky

**Summary:** House can always sense when there is something going on. He has that ability, the innate sixth sense that lets him pick up on the smallest changes in people's mannerisms that prove that there is something different in their lives. But it's when he can't figure it out that he becomes cranky.

**Trigger:** Their personalities (gasp!)

**Time Frame:** Sometime after Euphoria - Part 2

**Pairing:** Wilson/Foreman

**Word Count:** 868

**Author's Note:** I used a random number generator and it became random. Well, that makes sense. The really bizarre thing is how well this ended up looking in my mind. I could really _see_ this going on and it is not comfortable with me. It's fairly... bizarre. Fun, but bizarre.

**Disclaimer:** Be forewarned about boy/boy and rather obscure boy/boy at that. I don't own House or the characters, and never will. Thank you David Shore for giving these characters to the world. Oh, and if you object to this pairing, I am very sorry for it being the first one for a while. Blame the random number generator and please re-read a pairing of your preference.

* * *

House can always sense when there is something going on. He has that ability, the innate sixth sense that lets him pick up on the smallest changes in people's mannerisms that prove that there is something different in their lives, and he makes a sport out of it. 

It's nothing personal. He just likes to know everything.

He's the master at it, and it pisses off just absolutely everybody around him on a regular basis. But right now, it's pissing him off instead. His own sixth sense is malfunctioning on him because although he can tell that there is something very significant going on in the lives of two of his colleagues, he is just that little bit too far away from figuring it out.

First, let's talk about Wilson. House sees Wilson a lot, knows a lot about him, even knows him well enough to know what colour tie he should be wearing on each day of the week. Wilson has broken the routine. Instead of some unpleasant cherry red number, he's wearing a chocolate brown tie with light brown and cream stripes. Wilson is showing a modicum of fashion sense. Now _that_ is weird.

Oh, and he is rising so far above House's rude remarks that House is seriously considering giving Wilson up for dead and moving on to Chase for a verbal sparring partner; not even the rudest comments can get a rise out of Wilson. Nothing. Chase, on the other hand, reacts pretty well and even comes up with a good argument on occasion. Unfortunately, Chase doesn't buy lunch. Therefore it is in House's best interests to solve the Wilson problem soon so that they can get back to normality.

The second problem is Foreman. Foreman is _happy_. Not fake "Oh-it's-wonderful-to-be-alive" happiness like after that near death experience. Genuine "I'm-getting-laid-regularly" happiness. In actual fact, it's getting close to freaking House out. Foreman is arguing less, using soft positional bargaining to get what he wants and being friendly to House. Maybe not so obvious as the tie thing, but still so different from the normal Foreman.

There's one possible connection. Wilson's tie thing is connected to the level of romance and/or sex in his life; Foreman is happy in the "I'm-getting-regular-sex" way. But House really does not want to contemplate that connection because that would give an interesting explanation to Wilson's failed marriages and creep him out. Creep him out bigtime.

- - - - -

Foreman closes the door behind him.

"I'm home!" he calls.

Wilson sticks his head around the door frame of the kitchen door with a smile on his face.

"How was your day, dear?" he quips before disappearing back around the door.

Foreman loosens his tie with an unseen return smile and follows the retreat of Wilson's head into the kitchen. Wilson is standing in front of the cooker, cooking something which smells brilliant whatever it happens to be. Foreman wraps his arms around Wilson's waist and kisses the older man on the cheek.

"Just peachy," he replies, squeezing Wilson.

"Cut that out," Wilson complains amiably. "I can't cook with you suffocating me."

Foreman pouts and lets go of him, sitting at the table.

"Stop being such a housewife," he grumbles. "We need to talk."

Wilson straightens, then visibly relaxes. Foreman raises his eyebrows.

"For one thing, what the heck was that?" he asks as Wilson abandons the cooking, which happens to be some sort of curry, and joins him at the table.

"It's nothing personal," Wilson assures. "I'm used to hearing those words come from House, and whenever they do, it normally leads to a very difficult conversation and a very bad headache."

"As opposed to conversations with me, which lead to...?"

"Nookie, I should hope," the oncologist quips with a naughty little smile.

Foreman grins back, then becomes serious again. Wilson follows suit.

"House knows that there's something going on," the neurologist says. "It's only a matter of time before he says something. It's beginning to annoy him."

"He won't say anything," Wilson says with blatant confidence.

"What makes you so sure?"

"House is very logical," Wilson begins. "He will have seen that I am wearing nice ties because I want to look nice, so he'll think that there is somebody special around. I've been ignoring his idiocy lately because it hasn't been so annoying, so he'll know that it's really something special. And I'm betting you've been acting differently around him, so he'll assume you're getting sex. Now the only logical reason, except for coincidence, is that we're doing each other."

"So how do you know that House won't say anything?" Foreman persists.

Wilson smirks. Somehow, it still manages to be somewhat attractive.

"Knowing House, he is probably trying not to think about that idea because it freaks him out. And by the time he's ready to deal with it, so will we."

Foreman nods. He understands. Wilson stands up and returns to his curry, saying as he does so:

"We're having a take-away tonight. This is your lunch for tomorrow and once it's done, we are going to have some fun."

"Will this fun involve 'nookie'?" Foreman asks, placing inverted commas around the word 'nookie' with his fingers.

"Oh hell yes."


End file.
